


The Most Remarkable Thing About You Standing in the Doorway

by cumberhardhiddlesbitch



Series: The Rhombus 'Verse [10]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 19:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberhardhiddlesbitch/pseuds/cumberhardhiddlesbitch
Summary: Tom Hardy returns to London; he and Shannon spend the evening together.





	The Most Remarkable Thing About You Standing in the Doorway

Shannon rang the buzzer, waiting nervously on the bricks outside Tom's front door. The entire way to his house she'd been on edge, and now that she was here the butterflies in her stomach seemed to be out of control. The lock opened with a click and she pushed quickly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind herself as if there were anyone interested in sneaking in.

It was only her second time in Tom's home, but she had recalled her first visit so many times that the front entryway seemed to have an air of familiarity about it. She slipped her shoes off and left them on the mat beside Tom's trainers and a tiny pair of rubbers that had to be Louis', then ran up the stairs on stocking feet.

Tom was waiting for her, opening the door to the living room when he heard her on the stairs. 

"You didn't have to take your shoes off," he said, but he was in his stocking feet too. Max ran over, face tilted up and tail wagging, reluctantly settling by Tom’s side when he snapped his fingers. 

"I always do at home," she said, afraid for a moment that she might have misspoken, implying that Tom's house felt like home, but he only opened his arms and pulled her into a long hug, holding her tight against him as she wrapped her arms around his back. She settled her fingers into the furrow of his spine and the curve of his shoulder blade, soft t-shirt material bunching up under her hands. Max nudged her leg with his nose but she held herself back from petting him, not wanting to undermine Tom. 

"Thanks for coming here," Tom said as he released her. 

"Of course," she said. "Better than the alternative." He raised his eyebrows, not understanding. "There are so many people at mine. Not to mention I’m sure Max is happy to have you home.” 

Tom’s smile at that was so broad and immediate she felt warmed by it, smiling herself as he leaned down to scratch Max behind the ear. “You are, aren’t you,” he said as Max marched his front paws, nails clicking against the wood. “You can say hi,” Tom said, and Shannon wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the dog, but she held her hand out as Max stepped forward. 

“You’re such a good dog,” she said as she crouched down to give Max a proper two handed scratch around the back of his ears down to his neck. As she stood up Max let his head rest heavily against her hand, looking up at her. 

“He’s really so good at taking cues from you isn’t he?” Shannon said, cupping the dog’s chin before taking her hand away. 

“He is, yeah, but what do you mean?” Tom asked, gently scratching the top of Max’s head as Max settled next to him. 

“It’s only the second time he’s seen me but it’s like he’s totally comfortable with me,” Shannon said. “I assume he picked that up from you.” 

“Well, that and I’ve told him about you.” Tom looked down at him and Max tilted his head up, his face the picture of adoration. “He listens well.” 

“Oh. That’s good.” Shannon felt giddy at the thought of Tom confiding in his dog about her, and tried not to give away the bubbling happy feeling that was rising up inside her. “We only have a cat at mine and he doesn’t listen to anything.” 

“That’s a cat for you. I think we should give Max a pig ear, to keep him occupied for a bit.” He walked towards the kitchen, Max right at his hip. 

“Is it a real pig ear?” Shannon looked into the ceramic jar as Tom lifted the lid, glad he was the one reaching in and pulling out the leathery object about the size of his palm. 

“It is.” Tom held it up and she could see the outline of veins inside the dried flesh. “Better than letting it go to waste.” 

“No doubt,” she said, not wanting him to think she was squeamish, considering that she was willing to eat meat herself. 

Tom held the ear up in front of Max. “Take this to your crate,” he said. 

Max didn’t quite jump, but stretched his neck so he could catch the ear in mid-air as Tom dropped it, then trotted off to his crate, turning around several times before dropping down onto the blanket to gnaw on the ear. 

Tom washed his hands at the kitchen sink, stepping aside as he dried his hands. She took a moment to wash her hands as well, sensitive to the fact that they might smell however faintly of dog. 

“Someday I’ll take you out on a proper date,” Tom said as he took her hand, leading her to the living room. 

"I think we've had some proper dates," she said as she curled up in the corner of the sofa. "Did New York not count?"

"I think we might have skipped the fancy date part and gone straight to the mini-break." He rested one knee on the sofa as he leaned forward to kiss her, hand cupping the back of her head as she looked up at him. 

She closed her eyes, let herself lean back on his hand, almost dazed by the time he leaned back. 

"I think I'm alright with that," she said as he sat down on the couch, taking his hand away.

"With what?" He was facing her, knee to knee.

"Doing things out of order."

"That's good." He leaned his head against the back of the sofa, each blink longer than the last. "I'm feeling fairly out of order myself right now."

She slipped her foot under his bent knee, nudging him. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Just tired. Didn't realize it was going to hit me like this today. I got home two days ago, hit the ground running, no jet lag. Here it is."

She laughed softly. "Going east I always tell myself there's no lag. I fall asleep right after takeoff, and we land in the morning. Then it hits me a day or two later. I never learn, though."

"Me neither, apparently." He forced his eyes open and smiled ruefully at her. "Sorry to make you come all the way out here to watch me nap on my sofa."

"You can go nap in your bed, if you want," she said, not wanting to keep him up. It hadn't exactly been easy getting out to see him, but it wasn't impossible and she tried to keep the disappointed tone from her words.

"No, I really want to see you." He sat up straight. "What time is it?"

"It's about five."

"If I sleep now I'll be all screwed up." He stood up, stretched his arms over his head, and looked, for a moment, like a reasonably alert man. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Because that won't screw you up. No, no no no no no," she said as she chased him into the kitchen.

He stopped suddenly short of the worktop and turned to her as she skidded to a stop on the smooth floor.

"But Shannon, I need coffee." He did look tired, his upper eyelids heavy.

"I know this one, though. You drink the coffee, you stay up until what your bedtime would have been in the US, you're up to the wee hours, you're tired again tomorrow." She slipped between him and the worktop, trying to guess where the coffee was hidden.

"Just one cup." He reached forward, aiming for the cabinet behind her head.

"No." She caught his wrist in both of her hands, realizing it was a totally ineffectual move when he slowly lifted his arm over his head, stretching her arms out as she tried to hold on.

"Maybe I'm ambidextrous?" He reached with his left hand and she gave up one hand to try to grab that one too, threading her fingers through his.

"I'm ambidextrous when it comes to coffee, myself, but no." She couldn't help but laugh as she realized how ridiculous they had to look, hands stretched over their heads, standing almost perfectly still in the corner of the kitchen. She let go, only to have Tom wrap his arms around her, sudden as a snake, lifting her up onto the worktop.

She had thrown her hands up on to his shoulders, left them there as he stepped back just far enough to be in focus.

"Did you actually get stronger?" She ran her hand along his upper arm curiously, the groove between his bicep and tricep big enough for her smallest finger to slip into.

"Yes." He didn't need to prevaricate, because the answer was so obvious. "It was a long shoot, and Tommy's supposed to be getting stronger the whole time." 

She let her hand linger over his bicipital groove, obvious even through the soft t-shirt. "I thought you guys did that all backwards, started where you meant to end, and all that."

He shook his head. "It wouldn't look right, not when the whole film is focused on their bodies and fighting. When I let this go, and I plan to, I'm going to get so fat."

She could feel the expression flicker across her face, a moment of shock and dismay that he'd talk about himself that way. He mistook it for dismay at the prospect itself.

"I am, though," he said. "It's a natural consequence of not working out like that, and believe me, unless my next role calls for it, I am not working out like that for some time."

"No, I'm not worried about how you look, I was just worried that you talked about yourself like that."

He smiled. "Oh, you thought I meant it as a bad thing. Nah, I'm just realistic. You saw Wuthering Heights, right? I was coming off being in Bronson and I didn't do it right. My arse was as wide as my shoulders."

"Guess I'll have to watch it again. The first time round I didn't pay adequate attention to your arse."

He smiled, slowly, licking his lips as he looked at her. "A mistake I'm sure you won't make again."

"To be sure." She let her hands slide down his arms until they were holding hands again. 

"So, what are we doing, if I'm not allowed to have coffee?"

"I will need food," she pointed out. "I think you will too. We could make dinner." She curved her fingers against his, scratching gently at his skin. "Do you have anything in? You must, Louis was here."

"I have free range organic chicken nuggets, applesauce, bananas, carrot sticks, a variety of dry noodles and butter for the anointing of said noodles, some full fat milk, and some cheese."

"I'm sure we could do something with that," she said, though the prospects were fairly heavy, bland, and overall grim.

"I'd rather not, to be honest."

"Thank goodness. What have you been eating the last two days?"

"Fell asleep without eating the first day. I do have some breakfast cereal and peanut butter. Takeaway one night. Other than that, I've been eating lunch with Louis."

"I was afraid of that." It didn't sound bad as toddler food went, but it didn't sound particularly appealing either. "Why didn't you get actual food in as well?"

"I had Louis with me when I went to the shop. Have you ever tried to do a grocery run with a toddler? You might as well take a billy goat."

"They've got the little seats in the trolley," she pointed out.

"I thought it would be quick enough to just use a basket," he said.

"I don't even have a child and I know that's folly. Alright then. We need to go."

"Go where?" He stepped back as she hopped down.

"Out, to either get food to prepare here, or to find food, but you have got to get out of this flat. You're looking like going to sleep on the floor at any moment."

"Good idea." He made as if to sink down on to the floor and she tugged on his hands, urging him towards the door.

"You need a jacket," she warned him as she paused in the middle of the room. "Do you have one downstairs?"

"No." He walked quickly to his bedroom, and she resisted the urge to go check on him, to make sure he wasn't going to get comfortable. He came back zipping up a heavy gray hoodie. "Will this be enough?"

"Yes." She felt the sleeve, running her fingers over the fabric near his wrist.

"Hold on a second." He went back into his room and returned with another sweatshirt, this one wrapped in a clear plastic bag. "This is for you."

It was even heavier than she'd expected, folded so the stitched-in logos on the upper left were visible-- simple block lettered Lionsgate logo, and under that a bolder font spelling out Warrior in dark gray, the same as his.

"They're from the production company. Everyone who works on the film gets one but there are always extras. Joel snagged this one for me to give to you, told me I'd better bring you one or else you'd steal mine."

She laughed. "Well, tell him thank you, but I would never steal your clothes. Not forever, anyway." She kissed his cheek, wondering if it was normal to be smitten with the fact that he freely admitted that her present was both free, and obtained by someone else entirely. "It's very cool. Thank you."

Once on the footpath he took her hand, and she let him lead the way down the street. 

"Have you had a chance to see Ben?" she asked.

"I did, saw him yesterday. He was leaving today, for a while."

"That's a bit of bad luck." She led them both carefully around a lamp post. 

"It's not unusual for us. We seem to be cursed with schedules that just don't line up. I was shocked that meeting you in New York actually happened."

"My schedule is a little more flexible, most of the time," she said. She looked around the tree lined streets. "Where are we going?"

"I'm just walking towards the high street, really. There's a market there," he trailed off. "I'm too tired to cook. I'm sorry, I know that's pathetic."

"It's fine. So where should we go? Or do you want me to cook something for you? The only truly quick thing is pasta, though."

"I was so excited to eat pasta again but after the last couple of days I'm over it." He was standing still in the middle of the footpath, looking lost.

"Shall we go out then?"

"Yeah. We'll go up the road here, and if it's too busy we can go somewhere else."

She squeezed his hand as they set off again, then remembered something he'd said during a late night phone call. "Sorry, is that the hand you broke?"

"It was only a finger, my right smallest finger. The bone is all healed now. I injured the tendon years ago and it doesn’t bend with the other ones. It was pretty much inevitable that I would break it.”

"And your ribs?"

He shrugged. "I assume they're healed now."

"Are you hurting now?"

He shook his head. "I was still really sore for about a week after the last fight scene. It was choreographed, but still difficult. That was a couple of weeks ago, though. My final scene was actually with Nick. I only had to carry him a short distance while he was dead weight, drunk."

They walked in silence for a few moments. "I hope it's not too gauche for me to say that it is so weird that that was your job."

"What, carrying a faux-drunk Nick Nolte around a hotel room?"

"Well, yeah."

"It is weird." He let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "I hope I never forget that."

The curry house Tom had chosen was mercifully able to seat them right away. Tom seemed to perk up after his first cup of tea, looking at Shannon as he reached for the pot.

"I'm fine," she said. She'd only just sipped at her cup of fragrant tea while glancing over the menu. It was simple standard Indian fare, and she had more or less made up her mind before she'd even sat down. 

"It can't be as bad as coffee, right?" Tom poured himself another cup. 

"It is if you drink the whole pot." She slid it away from him as he chuckled, tucking it behind the small lamp that lit their table. She curled up happily on the cushioned bench, leaning into the wall as she held her cup cradled in her hands.

"Well, I might do. I'll be fine by the end of the week anyway."

She nudged the teapot another inch closer to herself.

"I can reach that, you know."

"Power of the mind. Moving something further away from yourself is supposed to make you want it less."

"That usually works for me for about ten, maybe fifteen seconds."

"Well, it's on your head if you're up all night. No skin off my nose."

"Yeah, come to that," he said, "are you staying over tonight?"

She wondered if he could see it in her expression, the way that simple question made her stomach flip-flop pleasantly.

"If it's no trouble."

He tilted his head. "Are you serious? It's no trouble."

"You're obviously exhausted from this brutal film you've been working on. I don't want to get in the way of you resting."

"It's not," he paused. "Actually, it is brutal, but it's really good too."

"I don't doubt it. I didn't mean brutal as a bad thing, just, you broke _multiple bones._ It's an apt description."

"I know. But you're really going to like it." He sounded sure of himself yet hopeful at the same time.

"I'm sure I will." She glanced up as their server returned to the table, glad to have a moment to collect her thoughts. After they had ordered there was an odd moment of silence, the first time she hadn't felt totally at ease with him since they'd first met. She poured herself another cup of tea, unable to look at him as the question that had been on her mind since the beginning of the evening seemed to press on her, demanding that she ask. She looked up as he held his cup out.

"Alright," she sighed, feigning a long-suffering attitude.

"I'm impervious to the effects of this tea," he said. "Tea consumed with dinner does not produces sleeplessness."

"Keep telling yourself that." She leaned back, watching him drink, found herself speaking before she'd really decided which tack to take. "So, what did Ben have that called him away so quickly?"

Tom set his cup down and spun it in a slow circle. "That would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Would it?"

"He's got a fairly specific job," Tom pointed out. "Like me."

"So, a film," Shannon said. "That's hardly telling."

"I thought you meant a little more specific, like which film, or where."

"That would only be telling if I was on a mission to figure out who he is, exactly." She managed to hide her smirk. 

"You're a better person than me. I would be."

"Then why not tell me? He already knows who I am." She could hear the note of sharpness in her tone, tried to check it. She wasn't angry, or at least not asking questions to incite him. 

"Not quite," Tom amended, unperturbed. "He knows what you do, but not your name."

She shrugged. "He might as well. It's not like I'm famous or something."

"I wouldn't be too sure. You're very googlable." 

"You have my permission to tell him, in any case," she said. "He can google me all he likes."

"Why, you think you've figured him out?"

"I think so." She set her cup down, pushing it off to one side so it wouldn't be in the way when her food eventually arrived. "If you'd prefer that I not tell you my guess, then I won't."

Tom stared at her for a moment, then sighed. "It wasn't like I was going to keep it from you forever."

"Was it at his request?" She felt a pang of guilt. "I could understand that. Really, I shouldn't have said anything." She could feel herself backpedaling and pushed against it. If Ben didn't want her to know, that was his prerogative, in a way, but she wasn't just anyone. She was Tom's significant other, too. Then again, she was practically no one to Ben. It was an argument that she'd had with herself many times before.

"He knows I'm going to tell you. He's alright with that. I think he was nervous about someone else, anyone else, knowing, not just you specifically."

"So go ahead and tell me then." She fought the sudden urge to laugh, wondering if she was wrong anyway. It wouldn't have been the first time that a brilliant idea she’d come up with had gone off the rails in the light of day.

"I'm more interested in hearing your guess right now." His smile was genuine, but there was a certain edge to it as well, and she hoped that she was right.

"Benedict Cumberbatch." She hadn't even finished saying his name and she knew she was right.

"How did you get that?" Tom looked at his teacup and seemed disappointed that it was empty, but didn't refill it. "You are right, by the way."

"Edward and I watched Stuart one night." She didn't add that they'd had a stack of DVDs comprising nearly his entire _ouvre_. Edward hadn’t been able to find Minotaur. "Then we watched the extras."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She took a sip of her tea, relishing the fact that she still had some. "I hadn't told Edward that you referred to your boyfriend as Ben, so he didn't make that connection. He really should have, though. He's the one who had to explain to me," she tried to go on but found herself giggling, half nerves, half amusement.

"Yes?" Tom waited patiently.

"Sorry, he had to explain to me what," she had to take a breath in and it set her off again. She hid her head in her hands, well aware that at this point trying to go on was a waste of time. There was a barbed wire fence around that set of neurotransmitters in her brain, and she would have to laugh each time.

"I think I know what you're going to say, but I'm more interested in hearing you try to say it, now," Tom said.

She shook her head. "I can't. Just, did you really," she stopped before it got too bad, but wound up holding her head up with her elbow on the table, forehead in her hand.

"Yes, I did." He got up from his chair and slid around to her side of the table, sitting down on the bench with her and pulling her close so her head was resting against his chest. It was an incredibly familiar position for a restaurant, even a casual one, but she was enjoying resting her head against him too much to really mind. "I really did have to wake Ben up by bismarking him."

She snickered, closing her eyes as he held her closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him as he sat back. "Were you together then?"

"The line was very blurry."

She smiled up at him. "I bet it was." The sides of her eyes hurt from being squeezed shut as she'd been laughing so hard. "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but why are you over here?"

He bent his head towards her as he brushed his thumb against the soft skin next to her eye. "The pensioners at the table over there thought you were crying, and if a woman is crying in a restaurant, it's clearly the fault of the man who is with her."

"Clearly. You hoodlum."

"Clearly." He jostled her gently and kissed the top of her head. "I think they're satisfied that I've comforted you now."

"As long as you promise never to," she tried, and felt herself failing before she even started laughing. "Shit, I can't even say it."

"Promise you what?" he asked, all faux innocence as he slipped away, taking his own seat just as their food arrived.

“You know very well what,” she said. She scooped some rice onto her plate, then nervously tasted the paneer she’d ordered. It was lightly spiced, much to her relief.

“Promise you I’ll never wake you up by bismarking you?”

She managed to swallow her food without laughing. “I wasn’t going to be that specific,” she said. “I think ever, at all, at any time would be a reasonable thing to ask.”

“Really?” Only his cheeky smile saved the question from being genuinely worrisome. “If you’re sure.” He shrugged as he served himself some rice and curry.

“Are you saying that there’s some kind of hidden charm to it that I’d be missing out on?”

“There might be a certain amount of unexpected charm to it,” Tom said, pausing to take a drink of water. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I don’t suppose I can really help you out on that either,” Shannon said. “Lucky for you, you have Ben around.”

“I do count myself lucky in fact.” Tom’s smile was so disarming she didn’t even notice him reaching for the teapot. 

Shannon sighed but smiled at him as he helped himself to another cup of tea, topping her up before he set the teapot back down. 

They ate in silence for a few moments, Shannon feeling pleased at the ease with which they’d mentioned Ben, even in a somewhat salacious manner. 

Tom perked up on the walk back to his house, seeming almost genuinely alert, instead of pumped full of caffeine, as Shannon had feared he would be. Back as his flat, though, he settled into the sofa quickly, his feet up on the ottoman. Shannon curled up next to him, and Tom pulled the throw off the back of the sofa over both of them.

“Never thought I’d be the kind of guy with a throw on the back of my sofa,” he said as Shannon flipped it so it landed over their feet.

“What, do tough guys just turn the heat up and damn the bills?” she asked.

“Nah, they just stay warm under all the untanned animal pelts they have around.” 

“Please don’t tell me you’ve got a stash of those somewhere.” She leaned her head on his upper arm, cozy and comfortable. 

“No. Not really my thing. I used to think it would be cool to have a bearskin rug, but I’ve gotten beyond that. I’d have to have killed the bear myself and I don’t see that happening, at least not any time soon.”

Tom’s talk about what he’d once imagined himself as, combined with their ribald commentary about Ben earlier in the evening steered her towards a question she’d pondered before.

“When you were younger, did you always know you liked men as well as women? Or is Ben your first boyfriend?” 

Tom leaned his head back, stretching for a moment. “My parents did a good job making sure I knew that there were all sorts of people in the world, and I think as soon as I knew that there were people who fancied both men and women I felt like, that’s me. I wasn’t actually attracted to anyone in particular at the time, but I just knew. And it turned out to be quite correct. As for your other question.” He shifted, moving his arm so it was around her back, his fingers resting on her side. “Ben is my first boyfriend but I’ve had intimate relationships with men before. I just didn’t have the kind of relationship that lent itself to me calling them my boyfriend.”

“Sort of a friends with benefits situation?” Shannon asked.

“Yes, though maybe not the benefits you’d have in mind, given the phrase.” 

She sat up straighter, curious, and turned so she was facing him, leaning her side on the back of the sofa. The effect of her turning was also that she swept the throw along with her, pulling it off Tom entirely. 

“Nice trick,” he said, turning himself so he faced her more directly.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, starting to unwind herself.

“No, it’s alright, I was getting too warm. You keep it.” He reached up to tuck it around her neck. 

“What did you mean by that?” she asked. She’d thought about letting it lie, but it was too strange a statement, and made her worry about him, or the younger man that he had been. “Not the benefits I’d have in mind.” The thought that he might have meant his intimate relationships were tied up with drugs sent a chill over her, and she almost regretted asking. 

Tom, however, didn’t seem bothered. “I think most people when they hear friend with benefits, they think sex. What else could it be? But I’m sure you can be just as intimate with someone without it being sexual.”

Shannon nodded, feeling cozy in the extra layer of the blanket. “I know that’s true, but it’s hard to imagine how, sometimes, given how vulnerable most people feel when they’re naked.” 

Instead of answering her right away Tom leaned over to her, holding onto the back of the sofa. He ran his free hand along the side of her face, cupped the back of her head as he leaned forward to kiss her, gentle and quick before he sat down again. 

Shannon waited, expecting him to add something else to that, but he was quiet. 

“I was lucky,” he finally said. “I don’t like to think about how vulnerable I was when I was into drugs, but I was. And I got into plenty of shit but when it comes to the men I was with they had my best interests in mind.” 

Shannon leaned towards him and he opened his arms, letting her lean against him. 

“I’m glad,” she said quietly. 

“I’ve been lucky in a lot of things,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t even like to think about how much.”

“I like to think I’m not superstitious, but I think I know what you mean,” she said. She let herself rest more fully against him. 

Max approached the edge of the sofa and rested his muzzle against Shannon’s ankle, looking up at Tom, then moved over to where Tom’s hand was dangling over the side.

“Does Max need to go out?” Shannon asked.

“Probably.” Tom looked down at the dog, reaching out to pat his head. “Do you need out one more time tonight bud?”

Max marched his paws a few times, then laid himself down in front of the sofa. 

“I can take him out,” Shannon said, sitting up.

“Yeah?” Tom sounded intrigued. “You’d really be ok with that?”

“Sure. He’s a good dog.” She stood up and stretched. 

“No, I can’t do that to you.” He stood up as well, walking over to the front door. Max followed him, nudging against his hand as Tom took his leash down from the hook on the wall. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she said.

“I can’t invite you over and then ask you to pick up my dog’s warm shit,” Tom said, opening the door to the staircase. Max looked ready to launch himself down but Tom held him back. 

“When you put it like that,” she said, not really sure where to put herself. 

“I’ll be back in a few,” Tom said. See you in a bit.” Tom and Max took off down the stairs, leaving her alone in the flat.

She went to the kitchen and helped herself to a glass of water, then turned the lights off as she returned to the living room. She turned on the television and found it set to Channel 4; unsure of how long Tom would be gone or whether it would be worthwhile to try to figure out the DVD player she left it as it was, mildly amused by 8 Out of 10 Cats.

When Tom returned it was Max who burst in through the door first, running over to the sofa to sniff her outstretched hand. Satisfied that she was the same person he’d left there he loped off to the kitchen, drinking noisily from his bowl.

Tom followed, opening the door to Max’s crate and standing by it as the dog finished his drink.

“Max, crate,” Tom said, shutting the door behind him a moment later. 

When Tom sat next to her on the sofa he pulled the throw over both of them again. 

“I’ve got you in my house for only what, the second time. I’m so thrilled to see you. And yet I can hardly stay awake.” He leaned his head on the back of the sofa.

“I’m still very happy to see you.” She turned towards him, letting her hand rest on his chest. The thin shirt he wore was still chilled from his brief trip outside but warmed quickly between his skin and her hand. “And I’m rather patient.” 

“Thank goodness for that.” His voice grew deeper and slower, and Shannon leaned her head against his chest as he dozed, enjoying the simple warm bulk of him near her when she’d spent so much time missing him over the last few weeks.

He startled awake when an advert came on, then looked down at her. “Could you stand it if I gave up on being awake now and just went to bed?”

“I could. Can I come with you?” She stretched her legs out. “I’ve got nothing like your excuse but I’ve grown a little short on sleep lately myself.”

“I’d like that. Why don’t you go ahead and get ready.” He glanced back at the door. “Did you bring anything with you?”

“I brought a toothbrush and some pants,” she said, thinking of them rolled up in the bottom of her purse. Bringing an entire bag had seemed too presumptuous, but she didn’t want to be caught without the essentials.

“There’s some stuff on top of my dresser you can use. Take anything in the washroom you need. I’ll be right there.” The way he tilted his head back made her think that might be a remote possibility but she went anyway.

On the dresser in his room she found the same soft gray trousers and t-shirt as the first time she’d slept there, neatly folded and smelling faintly of washing powder. She brought them into the washroom and changed there, then brushed her teeth and folded her clothes, tucking them under her purse on Tom’s dresser. 

She was unsurprised to find him sleeping on the sofa, his mouth open wide. She stood next to him and put her hand on his shoulder, not wanting to startle him. 

“Tom. I think you’ll want to get up and come to bed.” The domesticity of her own words hit her suddenly and she hoped Tom was too tired to make much of them.

“Mmm. Yeah.” He stood up, then am led into the bedroom and then the washroom, shutting the door behind him. Shannon got into the bed, sliding under the covers as she waited for him. She was dozing when he came back, but awake enough to help as he pulled her close, her back warmed by his chest as she fell asleep. 

She woke up while it was still dark, confused for a moment by the angle of the thin line of light around the curtains before she remembered that Tom’s warm arm slung over her waist meant she was at his house. 

She held still, listening to his slow even breath. She was comfortable but not sure she could fall asleep again without rolling over, and wondered if she could roll without disturbing Tom’s arm over her side.

“You awake?” Tom’s sleep scratchy voice at her back made her jump, and he tightened his arm. 

“Yes, I’m awake,” she said, starting to turn towards him but he held her in place. 

“Just wanted to do this,” he said, his voice so soft and sleepy it took her a moment to puzzle out the words as he nuzzled at the back of her neck, mouthing at the skin exposed by her hair parting. 

She shivered against him, then rolled towards him, moving more easily as he lifted his arm for her. 

She was a bit lower than him in the bed, her face even with his neck. She kissed along the sharp line of his collarbone, lingering at the soft notch just above his chest as he stroked her hair. She let her eyes close again, still sleepy, as he wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. She rose and fell with his chest as he sighed, then seemed to keep sinking, falling into a deep sleep, warmed by his arms around her.


End file.
